Earthbound
by Jacqueline Tyler
Summary: It's been a year since the duplicate Doctor left the Tyler mansion, and Rose deludes herself she doesn't care. Until he comes back. Set after Journey's End.
1. The Stars Above her

Earthbound

That night, a keenly cold January night that, though dry and cloudless, smelled of snow and chilled her to the bone, she was unprepared; just as unprepared as she had ever been, although she supposed she should have known. It was a Doctor kind of night, after all, silent and majestic with a million stars twinkling across a sky of deep indigo. Beautiful.

She was out walking the old family yorkie in the cold, violet darkness, strolling up the soft slope of the hill behind the old allotment site. The routine calmed her. She'd started coming here years ago, when the first numbness of being stranded without him had subsided and made way for the pain. Walking had eased the pain; it was when she had to be still that the pain took over, and literally threw her into fits: blanking out everything else until all she'd see and hear and feel and think was the crushing misery of his absence, and she had no other choice than welcoming the pain and let herself be consumed by it, and it had felt like she was falling, falling, falling through time and space into merciful oblivion. And then she'd slowly awaken again, to her mother's frantic voice and to the shame of knowing that she was weak, a weak and pathetic little human who hadn't deserved to be shown all of time and space in the first place, if all she could do now was break down like Bella bloody Swan. The Doctor would have wanted her to be strong, to say no! and to get off her backside and _do _something. That much had been crystal clear to her. So she'd gotten herself the equivalent of a physics degree at the secret Torchwood academy – Rose Tyler, the girl with no A-levels! – and gone on to work on the Dimension Cannon with Mickey.

_Mickey_. Kind, loyal Mickey, not so chicken-hearted now. Her best friend. She hoped he was happy, that he had found someone. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and dabbed at them quickly with one hand, tugging at the leash with the other. "Come, Rosie, quick. Almost there."

The terrier plodded bravely on, shuffling up the familiar path. _Of course you can take care of yourself, sweetheart,_ her mother had commented once when she learned about her nightly destination, with a guarded look in her eyes that made her Rose's insides clench with guilt, _be careful, though, there may be weird people about. At least take the dog when you go there after dark, will ya? _She had scoffed at that, good-naturedly. As if anything earthbound could ever scare her again. As if the tiny terrier would have been capable of any form of protection besides barking a potential rapist's ears off. But she'd taken her anyway, if only to humour Jackie, and soon found that she actually derived a certain amount of comfort from the animal's company, and that had been that. She'd been assigned the late-evening walkies then, and she hadn't minded at all. The dog possibly was the only living being within the Tyler mansion that didn't make her feel like she was some nut job, to be tip-toed around at all times, just as the hill was the only place within walking distance where she could imagine, at least at dusk, that she was still in her proper universe, where _he_ was still zooming around the galaxies, even if she wasn't.

So when they reached the hilltop, doggie Rose began contentedly sniffing around for her favourite smells, and human Rose duly performed her ritual, lifting her gaze to the stars in silent tribute. Of course, they were the wrong stars, aligned in ever so slightly different constellations than those they formed at home, but she couldn't say she cared. She hadn't exactly spent her nights at Powell Estate peering into a telescope and memorising stars. No, _she _had been busy snogging Jimmy bloody Stone, feeling cool and romantic and daring, when really she had been such a dork, packing in school for the git! She shook her head at her past idiocy, sending strands of blond hair flying in every direction from where it hung past her sky blue beanie. It didn't hurt anymore, though; the whole Jimmy story, which had made her life hell in the years before she met the Doctor, didn't have the least amount of power over her now. It was a name, the shadow of a memory, and whatever pain that name had caused her was just a drop of water in the sea, compared to how _he_ had hurt her. Although he had never meant to, she knew that. It was just the way he was. He was a bringer of life, saviour of civilisations, yet heartbreak subtly surrounded him like a halo, and sorrow was his only constant companion. Knowing that didn't stop her from hurting, though.

Still as a statue, she remained standing there, very upright, ignoring the growing strain in her neck as she looked upwards and took in the sky, until the dull throbbing in her chest had eased a bit. It always helped, just as work and walks did, and although she found the stars very cold and distant tonight, white and aloof, winter stars with the hard glitter of crystal, of diamonds, she still imagined seeing him in them, an illusion of his lean, handsome face floating among the stars. In fairness, there was hardly anything that didn't remind her of him, and the stars would have to be the most unsubtle reminder of their life together, but there was something...special about this night. It seemed to her that the particular clarity and stillness, the icy luminance of the sky would have greatly appealed to him, would have prompted him to utter words of reverence and made him smile at her happily, and a little wistfully, with a look of utter yearning and subtle sadness in his dark brown eyes, hidden behind the sparkle and the laughter. Not hidden well enough though.

_Gone now. No use, _she checked herself tersely. _Best get home. _She averted her eyes from the stars and looked down at the little heap of dirty white fur that was now lying across her boot-clad feet. "Get up, Rosie. Bed time."

The terrier struggled obligingly onto her short legs but didn't move otherwise, and looked up at her with a pathetic little whelp and drooping ears. "Nope, no way I'm carryin' you," Rose told her firmly. The dog sneezed. "Oh no, you've not caught a cold now, have you? Mum's gonna kill me for not wrapping you up." Another sneeze. "Fine!" she exclaimed, a little exasperated, but with laughter. "Fine. You win. Again. Cheeky little lazybones. Dunno why she keeps you. You're not even really _her_ dog, y'know."

With that she bowed down, deftly scooped the small dog into her arms, and set off down the hill with a vigorous step. The animal's little heartbeat was pulsing into her hands, a rhythm as fast as it was serene, a vastly comforting sensation. Not for the first time, she wondered if this was what made the Doctor want to travel with human companions: the strangely reassuring presence of an entity entirely more primitive than he was, but clever and charming all the same, with a whole other view of things, blundering and stubborn and – brilliant. Something _so_ alive, with a single, cute little heart beating furiously away. A glorious pet. Just like –

_Don't be daft, _the voice of reason inside her piped up. _That's not how he sees humans. How he sees – saw you. He loved you, he did. – Why didn't he tell me so, then?!_ she gave back angrily. _How hard can it be to say three simple words? _But of course she knew that for him, it was the hardest thing. Not because he didn't love her – he had been right, it hadn't needed saying, not really – but because he's always known that he couldn't be what she truly needed him to be, however happy he had been to make himself believe that he was. And if she was honest, she'd known that, too.

She picked up her pace, mad at herself for being so rubbish at controlling her thoughts. Saluting the Doctor across the dimensions was one thing, her attempt to keep alive the memory of their good times together, but she had long since realised that it wouldn't do to dwell on his betrayal. She hadn't needed the shrink Jackie insisted she see to tell her that. Yes, the idea of losing what little grip she had on reality was tempting at times. Some days she wished she could just let go and give herself over to the dreams that came to her every night. But she owed him at least that: to keep going no matter what. To try and live the life he had been living.

He had meant well, had wanted her to be safe and happy with her family, and she could appreciate that. She knew that, but she also knew how he liked to punish himself, knew the dark streak that was still there under all that new cuteness that had led her to believe that they could build something very special together. After Krop Tor, where he'd suddenly let down his guard and they had finally, _finally_ become lovers in every sense of the word, she had been too wrapped up in that new happiness to see the guilt in his eyes, right next to the infinite tenderness with which he'd regarded her; she'd thought that it was going to be okay. But in the end, all it seemed to have accomplished was that he'd felt the need to chastise himself even more. And that was what she found she couldn't forgive: that in a way, he had used her – and _John_, too – as instruments of his penance. What better way to torture himself than to leave her with a perfect copy of himself, so that he could forever imagine their life together, day after day, in bliss and contentment. So he could tell himself he had done the right thing.

Only it hadn't turned out like that, had it? Oh, he could be so dumb for all his being a genius. Had he really thought she'd just wave him off and carry on seamlessly with his duplicate and live happily ever after? Then he had to be much more of an alien than she'd ever taken him for.

A sudden pool of bright light sprang into existence in front of her, illuminating a metal door inside a long brick wall. She set the dog down on the ground and produced a key from a pocket inside her parka, using it to unlock the door. The yorkie trundled through and off in direction of the house with a happy yelp, and she followed close, but not before carefully locking the door again. The ever-present paparazzi, thankfully absent today – because of the cold, she supposed – knew about the existence of this entrance and she didn't want to make it too easy for them, pain that they were.

Two locked doors later, she took Rosie on a detour to the dark kitchen in the basement, glad that the staff had already retired, and chucked a moderate amount of dog food into the terrier's bowl, leaving her munching happily. Then, she braced herself and ran lithely up the back stairs and to the main living room, where her mother was watching TV, dressed in black denims and a simple blouse, a full tea set laid out on the coffee table. _No dressing gown? What about wine? Make-up at this hour? _Rose noted, immediately seeing red flags.

She went through the open door with her coat over her arm, but still wrapped up in scarf and beanie, careful to stay close to the door. "Mum, I'm back."

"Perfect!" the blond, middle-aged woman gave back, hitting mute on the remote and flashing a big smile at her daughter. "Pete's coming down any minute. We can have tea together! Put that jacket away and sit down. He hasn't seen you all day, and neither have I."

Rose gave her a doubtful half-smile. _What's up with her?_ "Nah, thanks, Mum. I'm knackered. And I know Pete had someone over fro work. He'll want his peace now. I'll just go kiss Tony and then hit the pillow."

Jackie sucked in her lower lip, trying to look casual, an effect largely belied by the rich crimson colour that was rising in her cheeks. "Y'sure, sweetheart? Please do. Just for a bit. Chat some. Have a cuppa. And Pete...he wanted to talk to you. "'S not a Torchwood day tomorrow, is it?"

"My team's only on call Mondays and Thursdays as long as everything's quiet, remember? I'm really tired though. Should get some sleep." She pulled off her hat and made herself smile, bracing for Jackie's certain contradiction, and wondered again what she was up to now. And what Pete might want to talk to her about. _Not another suggestion to take time off,_ she prayed. _I'lm gonna lose it if I have to spend more time in this house than I already do. _Jackie sighed, and Rose felt instantly guilty.

"Rose, darling. I never get to spend any time with you these days. When you're not at work, you're burying yourself in your room. Heaven only knows what you're doing there. Can't you even have a cup of tea with your mother before bed? We never _talk_ anymore, Rose. We used to have the nicest talks. Mother and daughter. At the kitchen table, doin' each other's nails. Your gob was runnin' and runnin'. I miss that, I do."

_Uh-oh_. Bad wording. When it came to gob, she only knew one person who really, really had one. She hesitated, biting down on her lip. "I miss that, too," she conceded. "But it's different now."

"Oh, Rose, don't say that. We're still the same people, aren't we?" Jackie said in a small voice. "Aren't we, sweetheart?"

For the thousandth time, Rose wished she was a better liar, already feeling the blood rush to her face at the mere thought of of saying "yes". So she said nothing.

Jackie shrugged, letting it go. Her mum had become quite good at letting go lately, Rose thought. In the other universe, Jackie Tyler would never have backed off., would have sat it out and not moved an inch until Rose had told her what was what. _Stands to show, Mum. Stands to show._

"C'mon, Rose, just a cup of tea." Jackie said, reasonably.

"It's never just about tea these days, Mum."

"It's not about moping either! " her mother blurted out.

"Oh, it's this kind of chat you want to have," Rose said tiredly. "Well, I don't. As I said, tea's never about tea here." She started to turn away, but Jackie got up from the sofa, surprisingly nimble, and walked up to her, touching her shoulder in apology. "Now don't be angry, sweetie, I don't want to make life harder for you, God knows I don't! But you're my daughter! I can't just stand by and watch you falling apart – _again!_ It's worse than last time, for Christ's sake!"

Wearily, Rose blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, a gesture of a much younger her, but appropriate, she thought, for the frustration that was building up inside her. "Mum. Can we please do this tomorrow? Or not at all, even. Seriously, I'm exhausted. And I can't talk about this now, I just can't."

Jackie's hand squeezed her shoulder. "I know. I know. Only..." She let her hand fall to her side again and bit her lip. "What about Doctor Number Two? John? You've got to talk about it _sometime_! You can't keep pretending he doesn't exist forever, Rose."

"I can try," Rose murmured, her eyes on the ground.

"What was that?" Jackie said sharply.

Rose faced her again, a silent plea in her eyes. "I'm not the one who left in the middle of the night, leaving a note like a six-year-old."

"You weren't exactly very welcoming," Jackie pointed out.

Rose shook her head, exasperated. "And what he hell was I supposed to be like?" she gave back. "Yes, I kissed him! And meanwhile, the man I loved took off without saying goodbye! No, it's not his fault, but – this isn't what – right." She let her hands glide over the top of her head, smoothing down her hair. "Look. We've been there before. I can't help the way I am right now or the way I feel. I don't even _know_ what I feel anymore. I guess it will go away eventually. Or maybe it will not. It doesn't matter. And it's not about him. Everything's okay, Mum. I'm okay."

"You're bloody hell _not_ okay, Rose!" Jackie yelled. "Look at you, only ever leavin' the house for work or to go pinin' after what you can't have, up that bloody hill! What good does that do, eh? It's been a year now. A whole bloody year."

Rose exhaled slowly through her nose. "I'm not – I'm not _pining_, I'm coping," she said in a brittle voice, her teeth clenched. "It's not been exactly _easy_. Look, I know it sounds dramatic, but I – it – it'll never be easy, not anymore, not for me. And that's fine. I just don't want to talk about it. Or _him_. Especially not him. He's made his choice."

Jackie crossed her arms, regarding her unhappily. "Maybe he's just been hurtin', too, Rose. Have you ever thought of that? The way he was looking at you whenever he thought no-one was watching. Like you were the mos' precious thing on earth. He was lookin' at you like your Doctor did, exactly like."

The tears that had been gathering behind her eyes for a while now spilled over, stinging her cheeks like acid. "The Doctor never looked at me like that," she whispered.

Her mother stared at her. "Of course he did! Rose! How can you say that? Him old leather jacket did it and thought I wouldn't notice, and the other one couldn't take his eyes off you and didn't even bother to hide that from me. He just took care not to flaunt it too blatantly in front of _you_, the bloody fool. And Doctor Number Two is the same., believe me.

"That man – John," she conceded, "is not the Doctor. He's not even his exact duplicate, even though he looks it, but not on the genetic level. He's just a pretty human/Time Lord hybrid clone who happens to own another man's memories and foul mouth. Christ, Mum, you know what he is! Pete supervised all the tests! That man is a total stranger and it creeped the hell out of me, he looking at me with those hungry eyes as if I was his every dream come true, and all I can do is stare at his hands, trying to remember which was the one, the one hacked off by that Sycorax, because that would be the only thing I'd have left of my Doctor."

Jackie cleared her throat for a retort, but a too quiet voice behind her spoke first, a bit high-pitched but decidedly masculine, with a rich soft timbre to it. A voice Rose kept hearing in her dreams. A voice like tea and honey and the warmth of a cup of mulled wine in one's hands, spiced with bitter almonds. The Doctor's voice.

"It was my right hand, if you must know. But good to hear you think I'm pretty."

She whipped around.

And there he stood, not the Doctor, looking weird dressed in jeans and a blue v-neck sweater that hung most flatteringly on his slender chest, with a magnificent mess of sticky-uppy brown hair, his face dotted with the pale light-brown freckles she loved so much. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his feet - in blue trainers – planted flat onto the floor: his oh-so-casual, and in truth so solid stance. He broke into a wide grin when he saw her face, his eyes crinkling with sheer joy.

"Rose Tyler," he said, still grinning, relishing the feel of the name on his tongue. "Long time no see."


	2. The Anger Of Her Heart

A/N: _Thanks for those two lovely reviews, much appreciated! I'm not sure yet if I'm going to continue this - there are a lot of things that still could do with exploring after the emotional exchange you're about to read, so if you enjoyed it and want more, give me a hint. :) My thanks to Emelie Brown over at deviantart for letting me adopt her beautiful cover!  
_

– Two –

Rose felt her insides turn to mush, her limbs go slack. Her coat and beanie slipped from her loosened grip, sailing towards the wooden floor in slow motion and making contact with a soft rustling noise, lying limp and forgotten. She couldn't remember what she imagined she'd do if he came back, or if she had imagined anything at all. The way he was leaning there against the doorframe as if it belonged to the TARDIS, all flippantly cheery and cocksure with a mountain of unspoken things beneath, he looked so stunningly familiar, even without the suit, that she couldn't think straight anymore. Her fuzzy brain was flooded by instinct, acute, staggering instinct, urging her to run up to him, to be swept up in the biggest of hugs, to wrap her own arms tightly around him and run her hands through his hair, to whisper endearments into his ear and breathe in his scent and let herself fall, fall, fall and be caught by his, and to finally stop hurting and be_ whole_ again. _But he is not him! _she tried to tell herself. _He just looks like him. Talks like him. But it's not him._

Blinking against the tears that were still blurring her vision, she caught his eyes in spite of herself, and for just a few seconds, they both held the gaze – long enough for her to take in the strangely pleasing antithesis of old, old eyes in a youthful face, just like _her _Doctor's. She also thought she saw something flicker over his features, an emotion? A memory? But it was gone too fast to be read. Still, this small observation finally caused her Torchwood training to kick in, and she made herself take deep, regular breaths, until her heartbeat slowed down and her head cleared a bit. She let her facial muscles relax to give herself a more composed look, and assumed a more stable posture. She swallowed a few times, but didn't dab at the tears that were drying on her cheeks (_Don't show any sign of weakness! Act like you did only what you meant to do!) _she heard her field instructor's voice say in her head). Then she turned half around to her mother, who flinched visibly, but didn't look away, her pale grey eyes full of pity.

"You knew about this, Mum." Rose said evenly, thankful that the words came out steady. "You knew he was here. How did you know?"

Again, the Doctor spoke before Jackie could answer. "Don't take it out on her. Or Pete," he said mildly. You wouldn't have agreed to meet me, had they asked. Stubborn tendency in you. Through your mother's side, obviously. Love it." He smiled at her, then pulled a mock-disgusted face. "Blimey, that's disturbing. What have I come to?"

"I'm not taking anything out on anyone," Rose gave back quickly – perfectly and maddeningly aware that he had actually used the word "love" _and_ applied it, however roundabout, to herself. The one word he would never, ever throw about at random, And what exactly _that_ meant to her was something she'd rather not explore right now, not with her mum loitering, but especially not with _him_ watching. But just as that thought flitted through her mind, he cocked an eyebrow. Then the other one. So he knew she had noticed. Great. And he knew she knew he knew. Better and better. On the other hand, she found herself oddly satisfied that after years without the Doctor, she was still able to translate his eyebrow movements, which were a language on its own. And suddenly, in spite of her pain and her anger, it filled her with unspeakable sadness that she had all but forgotten about this quirk of his until now, that she had _chosen_ to forget about this and all the other little traits and mannerisms that had made him so uniquely and deliciously _him_.

The other Doctor now gave her a smug look with both brows slightly arched, indicating he had followed her train of thought and validating it in one go, with a joking undertone, no less, and without saying a single word. Oh, there he was, wearing a _sweater_, for heaven's sake, but in that aspect this one was no different, no different at all. So smooth and on top of his game. She looked away. This, it struck her, was exactly what had made her cringe away from him in the days after Bad Wolf Bay II, when she'd had some time to think, when the absolute, overwhelming certainty of that first dazzling kiss had been washed away by a rising surge of confusion and guilt and doubt. Her problem hadn't been, as she'd assumed all this time, that this half-human "metacrisis", whatever that was supposed to mean – she more than half suspected that he had made up that word on the spot – had been too different from the Doctor, an imperfect, recognisable clone. It had been the incredible, identical likeness he bore to the Doctor, his main genetic pattern, that had done her head in. Because it had never been only about her decision to accept or to reject him. How could she do either of those things? Both would have been a betrayal, because even if she'd allowed herself to be happy with..._John_, she'd still have known that her Doctor was alone, grieving her loss. While actively rejecting his last, selfless gift to her would have meant to deny his great sacrifice. It might not have been what she wanted; she had been prepared to make her own sacrifice, to leave her family and everything that tied her to her human life for the chance to be with him, but she wasn't stupid. Not that stupid, anyway. Of course she had recognised his gift as the ultimate act of love that it had truly been: giving her the life he thought she needed instead of the one she wanted. What he hadn't seen, though, was the one thing she'd wanted more than anything, even more than she wanted him: for him to be happy too, if only for a little while; for him to be not alone, if only for the short span of her little human life. That was supposed to be _her_ gift to him, and he had taken it from her, rejected her. Had preferred to return into the darkness she had coaxed him out of. This betrayal was burning coldly inside her heart, eating away at her life force, at everything that had made her the person she was. How could she have chosen to love his human copy? You didn't choose to love, did you? But deciding not to accept his offer...that was a step she hadn't been ready to take either. It would have torn her apart. She'd wanted to be faithful to him by not choosing, but she'd been stuck in between instead ever since. Oh, she'd been such a fool. But what should she have done?! And then, the metacrisis had chosen for her, and left. At least, that was what she'd told herself.

She felt her hands shiver and clutched them together. Looking up, she noticed that he tad taken a cautious step toward her. There was no laughter in his eyes now, just..oh yes, just such tenderness and compassion. And hunger, too. She couldn't bear it. It was too much, too much after all these months and the years before that too, all that hurting, all the despair, all the effort put into coming back to him, all the times she'd nearly missed him and helping Donna to fulfil her destiny and then, when she'd finally arrived in the right world at the right time and the right place, the pure joy of running to him and the wonder in his eyes, he running so incredibly fast – and then the shock of seeing him shot and falter, and the first golden glow of his approaching regeneration and Jack – Jack! – dragging her away from him, so close, so close yet everything falling away and then – and then that neat little trick with his hand and _you're still you I'm still me _and then his arms around her body, crushing her against his chest, his hearts beating in rhythm with her single one, home, finally home and whole again and his happy smile and oh his scent like banana and autumn leaves and machinery and Earl Grey and then Davros, mocking him, torturing him with cruel words and Jack dying and Jack not dead after all and triumph and hauling earth home with all his family around the TARDIS console, all laughter and cheers and he supervising his exceptional crew, lingering by her side twice the time than by anyone else's, ostensibly to help her, pretending like a schoolboy: leaning in to her to push a button in front of her, grazing her arm with his fingertips on their way to pulling a lever, brushing her ear with his lips in a murmured instruction, beaming at her, touching her, enveloping her in that love he couldn't confess to her face for dear life –

And then the anticlimax, that windswept Norwegian beach again, the scene to most of her nightmares, and another him in a blue suit, and Donna all smiles and smartness and then the kiss...giving her all of himself in that embrace...and her, just unable to help it, because this was what she had been dreaming of all this time and it felt just so right, exactly like it had with him, every single night after Krop Tor...and then, he had left her, left both of them behind. And she hadn't known what to think anymore. Wether he was the man she had thought him to be. Wether she was the woman she thought she was. And if it might have been better if she'd never met him, if she'd stayed at the shop and married Mickey to live a quiet little life with him and two kids and a cat, ham and eggs for breakfast, going out Friday nights, being happy in the way most people were. Or weren't. Being unhappy was almost a definition of adult life, wasn't it? Unhappy, stressed, disappointed, bored, you name it. Not your average teenager's dream, but it happened all the time. Illusions destroyed, dreams forgotten. All perfectly normal. But her life with the Doctor had been the dream she'd never known she'd been dreaming; of a better, fuller life beyond the daily drudgery and chips and TV in the evenings, a life that actually made a difference, a life of freedom and wonder. From the moment he grabbed her hand in a dark London basement, she'd been done for; from that moment onwards, normal life was as lost to her as it was to him. And she'd never really had any choice in the matter.

She wondered if it had been a matter of choice for him. Had he made an informed decision to take her aboard the TARDIS, because of her brilliance ("I only take the best")? Or had it been a spur-of-the-moment thing, simply because she had been there or because he had this thing for collecting strays and he'd taken am inexplicable fancy to her?

And _this _him, had he really chosen when he left? Decided against a life with her and against the possibility of being rejected by her, or had he, maybe, just stalled, just like her, was he stuck, like her?

She realised that she had been staring at him, but without really seeing him; she'd been seeing pinstripes and sideburns instead of his jumper and clean-shaven cheeks, but with a delayed realisation in hindsight – the survival tool of all daydreamers – she knew that his eyes had been on her all through her troubled memories, with the look she saw on his face now. A new look, one she'd never seen the Doctor wear, not once: wary, reserved, out of his element; like a man who knows the territory, knows it better than anyone, but feels he isn't entitled to enter because the familiar paths have not been tread upon for a long time, his footprints long since vanished.

This was wrong. The Doctor was supposed to strut around as if he owned the place, any place, wherever he appeared on the scene. His easygoing self-confidence had been just as responsible for all those opening doors as his psychic paper. To see him holding himself back now was hard to stomach, even though he wasn't really the Doctor. She ran her tongue over her lips, cracked from the cold weather, and it hurt; not much, just enough to top off the tension that had been mounting inside her ever since she'd heard his voice. And that was the moment Jackie chose to speak to her, clearly uneasy amidst all these heavy looks and supercharged silence.

"Rose, I –" she began, and Rose, finally, spectacularly, lost it.

"Oh, shut up, Mum! What on earth were you thinking?! You thought Clone Doc and I should have a little heartwarming talk so we could make it up to each other, yeah?" she said scathingly. "Well, that's not gonna happen!" She snorted. "I can't believe you're in on this! How did you even contact him after he walked out on me? Or – wait. Wait wait wait." She tapped on her nose with a finger, as if thinking. "You'be been in contact with him all this time, haven't you? – Oh no. Of _course_! I mean, he's half alien. And Pete's Torchwood. Of course you couldn't just let him traipse around on his own without supervision. And that means you – and Pete – have known exactly what he's been up to this past year! You have his address, phone number and you're monitoring his internet and know how many times a night he had to use the loo. And if Torchwood was keeping track of him, why did I know about that? When I have access to all levels of classified information? You kept this from _me_, after all I've been through! Oh God, Mum! One year, and not a sign of him. For all I knew, he could have been dead or vanished off the face of this planet. And why now? Why tonight? Couldn't you a least have given me some warning, you or Pete?" She looked to the door, making a show of craning her neck as if straining to see something that was out of range. "Where is he, by the way? Too scared to break cover? No, don't. Leave it," she said when Jackie opened her mouth. "You've deceived me. Lied to me. Both of you, my bloody _parents_! Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

She yanked her hair behind her ears and crossed her arms over her chest, imitating her mother's preferred arguing gesture, watching his look of alarm from the corner of her eye.

Jackie, who had listened to her daughter's outbreak with carefully concerned relief and a good portion of complacency, walked up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder again. "Exactly, sweetheart," she told her. "That's exactly what I am. I'm sorry we didn't tell you, but your dad and I, we're totally on your side. And other people, too. You're just too caught up in your dreams of what's gone that you can't see it. Think about that, Rose. Before you do something you might regret. Just think about that." With that she let her hand glide gently away Rose's shoulder and walked calmly past the Doctor, who acknowledged her with a nod, and through the door, closing it behind her without as much as a glance back. There was a clicking noise, and they both looked to the door, realising that it had been locked from the outside. Rose gasped, but the Doctor looked down, chuckling under his breath, though he stopped immediately when he clocked her expression.

"That's not funny!" she shrieked. "What does she think she's doing?! That's ridiculous! Mum! _Mum_! Come back, now!"

"Jackie Tyler, unlikely ally. Who'd have thought that she'd be fighting my battles one day?" he said delightedly, expecting a biting retort, but Rose was too busy working herself up into a rage. He watched with widening eyes as she rattled the door handle uselessly a few times before launching herself at the door with full force and an actual battle cry, going so far as to jolt it with a shower of well-aimed kicks when it refused to budge. The string of expletives she was hurling after her mother sent the faintest pink tinge even to his seasoned ears. She _had_ grown up on Powell Estate, after all, and he supposed you didn't hold your own among a crowd of council housing kids by smiling and making polite conversation. Not even with a face as pretty as hers, he thought, oh, careful, dangerous territory – but no, it was OK now, wasn't it? He had seen it –in her eyes – for the shortest time, that tiny sparkle she could never hide from him, back in the days when she was still trying to conceal the extent of her feelings from him, for fear that he didn't reciprocate them. While all the time, all he could think of was her beautiful smile and her kindness and her laughter, her pure joy of being alive that made him feel alive too, young again, and oh, the way the roundness of her body curved against his angular one when they hugged, a perfect match. The memory made his heart ache; he had been such a coward. Even by the time he'd thrown all caution to the wind and allowed himself be close to her in every way two people in love can be close to one another, he had still shied away from telling her what it meant to him, how he'd never felt so at peace before, so secure, so wrapped up in another being that he'd started having trouble to remember that she belonged to another species, that he wasn't her human boyfriend, that there was no way her and him could work, that her forever could never be his. And on those occasions where he did remember, he had chosen to lose himself in the electric feel of her velvety skin under his fingers, in the taste of her lips and tongue, in her moans and screams; and in the silliness and stories and whispered caresses they'd share afterwards. He'd lost himself in the heat and ecstasy of human lovemaking, so primitive and yet such a revelation, such pleasure, such joy, such shocking, overwhelming intimacy, such a breathtaking level of connection, with her. For a few short month, his urge to run went unheeded, because for the first time since the war, just for those few months, he had been – simply and trivially – happy. And at the exact moment when he had fully committed himself to this impossible love – in all but calling it by that name – it had been taken from him.

Well, he was going to get it back. Take the chance he'd been given with this new body, this new life; redeem the pledge he'd been given, for it was time, He didn't know _why_, he only knew _now_. Something was calling out to him, reeling him in. Calling him home. His precious girl.

He swallowed, watching her. A big grin began to spread slowly all over his face as this completely new side to her unfolded in front of his eyes (and ears). Quantum physics, martial arts, extremely foul mouth, what next?! Oh, she was still brilliant, just brilliant, more brilliant than ever, still not accepting things simply because it was the way they were. Still putting up a fight. But – and his grin faded – it was plain to see that she had suffered in those years without him, and it pained him that he, too, had added to that. Her face looked pinched and paler than he ever remembered seeing it, all the pretty pink gone, her eyes circled by black rings she hadn't bothered to hide with make-up. Devoid of her usual black eyeliner, her tawny eyes looked smaller than he remembered them, smaller and lackluster and smooth at the edges, as if she never laughed these days. Her mouth was sharper, as were her cheekbones and her chin, all the soft plump roundness gone like baby fat. Under her tight-fitting clothes – dark denims and a plain white top – her muscles seemed more defined, the result of regular workouts, he concluded, her attempt at soldiering on. The dubious legacy of travelling with him, basically: run! She was so clearly and utterly out on her feet, her mental exhaustion assaulting his brainwaves from where she was attacking the locked door – even without a skin-to-skin connection, it was as if her brain was constantly screaming, and he could see how it wore her out. It took all of his self-constraint not to grab her around the waist and turn her to him, place his hands against her temples and melt his mind with hers so he could take her pain away. But he didn't want to scare her off now, no, he couldn't have that. Unwise to rush it now when he had waited for this so long; and anyway that would have been way too easy, a coward's way of solving this situation. And somehow – this was, of course, at the heart of it – he felt it was important to him that she came round by herself, accepting him on face value, without proof that things were going to be all right, without the safety net of seeing into his head. So he stayed where he was, just keeping his stance, watching her, silently drinking in her image.

Eventually, she gave up trying to break out, her knuckles bruised, while the door remained as unyielding as before. "Great. Just great," she muttered, panting. "That's absolutely my idea of a relaxing evening. Locked in with a creepy clone."

Again, he chuckled, and she wheeled around at the sound, only now remembering how close to the door he's been standing. He was standing right in front of her, so close that she could hear him breathe quietly, his narrow chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm too calm and regular to sound fully human. She stared, mesmerised by the movement, giving him a flashback to that scene on the beach, when she had placed a probing palm flat against his heart. He half expected her to repeat this gesture. Funny how she made him want to laugh and cry within the same second. His pink and yellow girl. "Rose," he said so softly that it was almost a whisper, wanting her to look him in the eye, craving that link, and she obliged him, still tuned in even to this new brain, still remembering.

She couldn't help it; she couldn't bring herself to look away from his eyes, from the rich chocolate brown of his irises that were so warm and kind and yet looked right into the very core of her soul. And for all the heartache he had caused her, in spite of his betrayals and his fear and his faltering and in spite of the one thing that wasn't his fault at all – not being _him_ – in spite of all that he was, still and always, the love of her life, the only one she'd ever really wanted; he was, still and always, her Doctor. How could she deny that when he stood there like this, hands in pockets and eyes filled with that absolute need for her and saying her name like it was a prayer, a magic spell, the answer to everything. Oh, but that wasn't fair, she thought, her teeth clenched. He had left her. _Left_ her.

"Where have you been," she hissed.

He looked wary, and didn't point out that it hadn't seemed to matter much to her whether he stayed or went. This wasn't about answers – or about questions, really, though it was the logical one. This was about bridging the distance between them, and she was the one who had to build the bridge. So he just kept standing very still, readying himself for the onslaught. And sure enough, there it came.

With her hands balled up into fists, she started to walk up to him, circling him, so that he had to turn in time with her to keep facing her. "Twelve months," she said in a low, dangerous voice that grew louder and angrier with every sentence. "_Twelve bloody months. _Gone without explanation, without so much as a goodbye, no address, no phone number, nothing. Nothing! Aberdeen all over again. Seems you don't even need the TARDIS to abandon people. Remember what she said to you – Sarah Jane? Bright, brave, beautiful Sarah Jane, do you even remember her or is she just one of your many Earth girls, too?! _Say it, this time, _she said. Isn't that always your problem?! Spelling things out?! Never a clear answer. Always alluding to things, dropping bombshells without ever following them up. What do I know about your life?! _I was a father once!_" she mimicked him. "_You wither and you die and I have to live on, alone. I snogged Madame Pompadour! I've only got one life, I could spend it with you! _Oh, and my favourite: _quite right too!_ What does that even _mean?!_"

"It means I was a coward. I was scared," he said with a rueful smile.

"Too right!" she snapped and leaned forward mockingly, her hands on her hips. "Always holding back! Scared of actually being _happy _for a change!Well, listen, _Doctor_, let me spell something out to _you. _Have you ever thought about what it does to the people you pick up? Yeah, you ask us to come with you, pretending we have a choice, but honestly, who would refuse you? Who would say no when you dance into their lives like Prince Charming with your perfect spaceship, a bloody _time machine_, no less. Nobody would say no."

"Only the morons, and who'd want _them_?" he chipped in, causing her to stop in her tracks and glare at him, and he winced.

"For Christ's sake! Can't you stop pretending to be funny, even if only for five minutes?" she yelled.

"Weeell, actually..." he began cheekily, so determined to get this over with as quickly as possible that he couldn't care less how they got there, but of course he knew in his heart that such things couldn't be rushed – not on Earth nor on any other planet he could think of. From what he had seen – and that could be called pretty comprehensive – love and relationships were a mess anywhere, anytime, almost per default, and one might spend whole years pondering the question how life in the universe had survived all these millennia of quibbling lovers. He could only suppose that love, just like life itself, always found a way. And anyway, she was too far gone now to have heard his remark. His heart went out to her when he heard the roughness in her voice, the hint of coming tears. She had stopped moving, and had slung both her hands behind her neck, cradling it, as if to fence off her frustation.

"What the hell were you thinking – what've you been up to?! I thought – I was – I was worried sick about you! For all I knew, you could have been dead!" A dry sob grated in her throat. "We never even really talked, I mean you and me, after he left us here. I know I avoided you, but it was so confusing, I just really didn't know what to think and how to be with you and who the hell you actually were supposed to _be_! I had been looking for...him almost since the day he said goodbye to me. All my time, all my energy was spent on that project, it was my life, I didn't have anything else, and then _bam_! I'm back here and he tells me I must care for you and _you_...Oh god, why have you come back, why now? What d'you want with me? Do you have _any_ idea how much you've _hurt_ me, both of you?!"

The last sentence came out as a cry of anguish, a wail of grief and rage and despair, and even as it resounded through the room, she launched herself at him, starting to let her small fists rain down on his chest with all the force she could muster, again and again, fast and really hard, making him flinch, but he stood his ground, closed his eyes and let her hit him, and hit him, shoving him backwards, until her blows grew weaker and weaker and then subsided completely, and her hands fell limply to his chest, trembling. Slowly, she looked up to him, her eyes swimming in tears.

He reached out slowly with one finger to brush a perfect, drop-shaped tear from where it glistened on her eyelash. The gesture, so infinitely tender, made the rest of her tears spill over. "What is it, Rose?" he said gently. "Say it."

She shivered, and searched his face – so handsome, so familiar to her that she could have traced his features with her eyes closed – for any sign of resentment, of...well, _jealousy_, but there was nothing like that. There was no emotion visible at all, no motion even; she had never seen his face so still. He just looked at her with a subdued fire burning in his eyes, like he was waiting for something. "Say it, Rose_," _he told her again, his voice rough. "You need to. It's fine. I promise. Just – just say it."

She closed her eyes, and let her tears fall freely at last. "I miss him," she said through ragged sobs, "I miss him, I miss him, I miss him so much, every day, every night, and I try not to think of him but I can't help it, I think of him all the time, I see his face everywhere and I think I can hear his voice call me at night but when I turn on the light, there's nothing there. I'm so afraid for him, afraid that he'll be lonely again and what that'll do to him and I'm so angry at him for leaving me, and it hurts, it hurts so much, all the time and it just won't stop and I know I'm supposed to love you now, but you're – you're not –" she stopped, opening her eyes to look at him with pitiful whimper. He raised his hand and cupped one of he cheeks in it, his thumb gently rubbing at the wetness below her eye. "Go on," he whispered. "I'm not –

She took a few heavy, grating breaths, still sobbing, speaking against her tears. "You're not – you're not _him_ and yet somehow you are and I – I don't know what to feel anymore or what I'm supposed to feel or to do and if this is really what he wanted or what you want and I'm hurting so much that I feel I'm just that pain now, just that pain, just hurting, hurting, hurting and –"

She was crying in earnest now, and he knew how long she must have held back these tears, what it must have cost her to say those words. His brave Rose, still going strong., never giving in. With a sigh of pure, unqualified relief, he finally wrapped both his arms around her, crushing her to him in a big, fierce hug, clasping her head to his shoulder with one hand and rocking her gently back and forth. "I know," he murmured into her hair, running his hand gently over the side of her face, "I know, love. Of course you miss him. And of course you're angry. Of course you're confused. It's alright. And believe me, I'm sure he misses you, too, oh, so very much. I know, because I'm him just as much as I am not, and I miss you too, my Rose, my precious, wonderful Rose. Shhh, it's alright, love. You are allowed to feel this way, of course you are... my love...my precious girl." He kissed her head, and she slung her arms around his back, clutching at him like a woman drowning. "Make it stop!" she said into his sweater, her voice muffled but still frantic, panicked. "Please make it stop! Please take it away from me!"

He tightened his hold on her. "I can't," he whispered. "I can't."

She lifted her head from his shoulder, loosening their embrace, blinking at him through her tears. "But didn't you say...you've got the same..brain...Time Lord brain? You could just go – go into my head, take it away, please! Please, Doctor!" Her hand yanked at his arm, pulling it to her, feeling for his hand, clasping it against her temple.

Gently, he opened her grip and placed both his hands on her still shaking shoulders, his eyes dark and intense, willing her to understand. "Yes, I still am a telepath. I could enter your mind and remove your pain. There's nothing I would rather do, in fact. Causing you pain..." He moved his gaze from her face to the ceiling for a moment, thinking of the stars far above before looking into her eyes again, "...that was the last thing I ever wanted. I wanted to show you the stars, the beauty and the wonders of this – of the universe. I wanted to make you smile, to see the awe in your beautiful eyes when you looked at those wonders. I was mad with happiness when your eyes began to sparkle because of me, and then, after I changed and I saw how you tried to hide that you couldn't look away from me, I got scared at first; I couldn't believe that you should truly be meant for me, and I hurt you just so I didn't have to think about you in this way, but of course I did anyway. How could I not? Your warmth, your courage, your brightness, your beauty, your youth and the hope it carried; the light you brought to my life! How dark had it been before! And on Krop Tor – oh, do you remember it, Rose, that terrible, magnificent place?" He smiled at her, aglow with the memory, and in spite of her pain, which was more acute than it had ever been, she smiled right back, remembering their first time together. She had seen how guilty he'd first felt when out of the blue, in that tiny, bare, standard Sanctuary Base room, they had somehow started kissing. But he hadn't seemed able to make himself stop either, not that she'd wanted him to, and by the time it was clear that it wouldn't just be kissing, he'd seemed to have forgotten about guilty, and what followed had been so much like him, so very _Doctor_: smooth and frantic and innocent and funny and intense, involving a lot of talking and licking and laughing and it had been so _good_, so effortlessly good and right that she had known, then and there, that she could never indulge in this specific activity with any other man ever again. He had spoilt her for that.

She sniffed, her smile widening, and he smiled with her, knowing exactly what she'sdbeen thinking of. "I should have said _won't," _he continued eventually, "not _can't. _Your memories of our time together are woven so tightly into the fabric of your mind that to make you forget the pain, I would have to extract every single memory of me, of us, of our life in the TARDIS for it to have any effect. You would have to forget everything about me and travelling through time and space, about Ood and Daleks, Jack and Queen Victoria and Raxacoricofallapatorius and New New York. It would all have to go, and I couldn't bear that, Rose Tyler, not even knowing that you're hurting. I would mean to lose the Rose I know, and I couldn't ever live with that again. Pain is part of life, and if you take it away, there's not much worth in what is left either. Without it, we wouldn't be the people we are; we'd just be empty shells. What use is it if you can weather every storm without damage when you're not able to enjoy the sun coming out when it's over? Because that's what you are to me, Rose. The sun coming out after the storm. My shining star. And if I can help it, I won't ever do anything to change that."

She snivelled, her eyes red and swollen, her face a teary mess, and she seemed to him the most beautiful thing in the whole of creation.

"But...why did you leave then?" she asked timidly, eye cast on the ground. "Why didn't you tell me all this one year ago? I thought - I thought you didn't want me anymore." A little sob hitched in her throat, and he laid a finger under her chin, lifting it up so she looked at him again, and spoke very softly.

"I didn't want us to be together just because we both felt obliged to. That would have been so easy a pattern to adopt: for you, because you would have wanted to honour his memory, follow the path he had laid out for you. Because you trust him with your life and you would never betray this trust just because he left you behind to live your life in peace. Oh, it would need _so_ much more to make Rose Tyler lose her trust in the Doctor. The end of the universe itself couldn't stop you. Didn't stop you." He paused to regard her with the tenderest of smiles, his brown eyes melting. "I needed to find out what kind of man I am. What this gift of my life does mean, what I am supposed to do with it. And I had to find my love for you all over again. So I could love you because of the feeling that's hidden away deep inside me. Because I was born to love you, and not because he told me to."

She stared at him with her mouth open, her breast actually heaving a bit like in a bad movie. The she looked away, straightened her top, smoothing it down; looked at him again, clearing her throat; looked away, put her hand over her mouth, took it away again and flicked her tongue over her upper lip. He watched, mesmerised by all these little actions she'd used a thousand times before, to get down again after a strongly emotional experience, which came a dime a dozen when you travelled in the TARDIS, and thought that maybe, only maybe, they did have a chance after all, because after everything, she was a little bit different; she had seen things, done things, lost things, but if you really looked, she didn't seem to have changed all that much, and that, surely, was something that could also be said about himself.

"And did you find it?" Her voice, deceptively casual, startled him out of his musings.

"What?"

"Your love for me...did you find it again, then?"

He grinned. "Oh yes. Yes I did."

She licked her lips again, nervously. "I think I did, too – or that is, I think I never really lost it. I just couldn't see it, because..." Her voice trailed off, and he completed the sentence for her. "Because you were still grieving for _him._ He never said goodbye, because he thought it would be enough that I was there; but I think that was a mistake. He should have said it; you were right about that. Aberdeen again."

Rose half smiled, half cried through her yellow fringe. "Aberdeen," she agreed. "The git."

He opened his arms and hugged her to him, lifting her feet up the ground and swinging her round in a whirl. "Yep," he said, popping the "p", "stupid git. Who needs him, eh? New new Doctor, right here." She clasped her hands round his neck, holding on with a giggle, suddenly simply, stupidly, liberatingly happy. Could it really all be so easy? There had to be a catch, there always was. On the other hand, new new Doctor, she could handle that, couldn't she? "What happens now?" she said, nervous.

He set her down again, serious within the second. "Whatever we want to happen," ha answered. "We can take it very, very slow if that's what you want. Get to know each other again. Bring each other up to date. I've been travelling a bit, undercover work for Torchwood, you know. Pete wants me to work in your hub, here in London. I guess I do need the money, too. We could – date! Or get that house, you know – the one with the carpet and the _doors_ and a mortgage." he said with a twinkle in his eyes and fake disgust in his voice. "I've had a year to adjust and a little flat and I like to think I'm getting the hang of this whole domestic lark."

She gave him a small smile, not wanting him to digress from the heart of the matter so quickly.

"I don't want to talk about all this. Not now."

He nodded. "What do you want to do, Rose?"

"I don't know–" she began, looking round the room helplessly.

He grinned at her. "I think you do."

She shook her head. "I can't really explain, it's just that I – don't want words. I don't need words. That's your domain, and that's – that's okay, and I – I'm so tired, Doctor. So tired and it's not that I don't want to talk about everything, I want that, it's just, I'm just so –" She broke off, distressed.

"Want to cuddle up for a bit?" he suggested with a glance toward the made her stare at him again, shocked by the warmth these words brought to her stomach. By the river of relief this made well up inside her.

"I really meant just cuddling," he clarified hastily, misreading her, and she smiled timidly.

"Yes. Yes. I think I'd like that. Just for a bit until Mum lets us out."

He smiled at her a little guiltily, thinking of the slim metal device in the pocket of his jeans, but felt reluctant to break the moment. Then, deciding he didn't care, he did what he'd wanted to do earlier: he grabbed her around the waist with the littlest show of swirling her about again. Letting himself slowly fall onto the sofa, he guided her body with him, then sat with his back against one armrest, his long legs pulled up and stretched out in front of him. She bowed to remove her boots before she got down next to him, prompting him to unlace his trainers. When he'd kicked them carelessly off his feet, he folded both his arms around her, clasping her to him as she snuggled up against his chest. With a contented sigh, she rested her head in the soft hollow spot just below his collarbone and felt herself relax against him, both settling into the embrace in one fluid movement, their bodies remembering each other easily. She became very still, wondering if all this was just a dream, and where all her doubts and misgivings had suddenly gone. She hoped they'd stay there, wherever it was.

Very quietly, and actually blushing, she said, "This is not a promise. I can't – "

"Of course not!" he said with a grin, shaking his head earnestly.

"No, really. I –"

"Yeah, really! I get it!" he told her. "I won't assume anything. I just think we do need each other right now A little bit of comfort. I think we're owed that, don't you?"

"Yes. I do," she mumbled sleepily against the soft wool of his sweater. "We can sort out the rest tomorrow. Or the day after that."

"Tomorrow," he agreed, burying his nose in her hair to breathe in its familiar, heady strawberry scent. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I love you," he said in the softest of whispers, his fingers caressing her shoulder, and she placed her own hand on his delicately sculpted chest, feeling for his single, steady heartbeat. "I love you, too," she whispered back, and for the first time since that beach, he felt again that being stuck on a parallel Earth with her, that wasn't so bad.


End file.
